


I who have seen much, Such have I never seen

by Llama1412



Series: Petals and Stripes [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Background Relationships, Elf/Human Relationship(s), Fantastic Racism, Flashbacks, Forbidden Love, Gen, Hanahaki Disease, Illnesses, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:49:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27627055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412
Summary: When their Commander starts coughing up blood and flowers, the Blue Stripes are forced to deal with what that means.Prequel to Earth Laughs in Flowers
Relationships: Blue Stripes & Vernon Roche, Iorveth/Vernon Roche
Series: Petals and Stripes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2019938
Comments: 14
Kudos: 51





	I who have seen much, Such have I never seen

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Hamatreya by Ralph Waldo Emerson
> 
> Inspired by valiantlybold on discord. Posted unedited because why not? This is a prequel to Earth Laughs In Flowers.
> 
> Also, it's canon that Shorty named his sixteen children after Temerian Troop Divisions. I enjoy that fact so much.
> 
> The flashbacks warning is for a flashback to suffocating, so please be warned if that's a trigger for you!

It started minor. The Blue Stripes all smoked enough that coughing wasn’t unusual. Plus, the newbie had allergies, so a cough here, a cleared throat there, maybe a hacking fit in the morning – they were all normal.

No one was entirely sure if that meant it had started earlier. But when the rasping tickle in the Boss’s throat turned into near-hourly events, everyone began to notice. Commander Roche insisted everything was fine, of course, but soon, instead of a couple of coughs, it was turning into bent-double half-retching fits.

PT was frantic, of course. While Roche could turn into Commander Dad when one of them got so much as a paper cut, he was notoriously bad at taking care of himself. He basically lived off of coffee and spite, and while it was hilarious and inspiring and all that, Shorty knew that in the long run, not only was it unsustainable, but it was bad for morale.

The thing was, Roche really _was_ Commander Dad. Well, he was also the Boss, but Bossmode was unmistakable, whether on the battlefield or at camp. But the rest of the time? He was Commander Dad. 

Considering their team was entirely made up of people with the self-control of toddlers, that was probably a good thing. Besides, Commander Dad was less scary than Mom Dom. They all knew that Ves was only second in command because she _chose_ to be. Everyone knew who was _really_ in charge.

But Ves also made it very, very clear that she followed the Boss’s orders. Because she had been through a lot of shit in life, but she _trusted_ Roche. She trusted him to make the right call and to protect all of them. That’s why she followed him.

Hell, that was why they _all_ followed him. Because he gave them a chance and trust and a family, and all he asked in return was that they help him serve Temeria.

Before the Blue Stripes, most of them had been fuck ups and failures, shameful blots on the Temerian Army’s record.

Well, technically, before the Boss recruited them, Finch and Fenn hadn’t been part of the army. The Boss had gone straight to the Temerian prison system for those two.

But the rest of them? Shorty and Ves and Thirteen and Silas had all come straight from the bottom rungs of the army. In the eyes of the army brass, they were flawed, broken. Ves was a woman, Thirteen was an unlucky disaster, Silas was eager and clever, but also scrawny and the worst swordsman Shorty had ever seen.

And Shorty? Well, his flaw was his ambition, apparently. Or lack thereof, more precisely.

Apparently, spending ten years as a Private with a desk job was considered strange. He really didn’t understand why – he was _good_ at administrative work and it was nicely absorbing. Calming, almost. 

Organization came naturally to Shorty. He was a details person, and he needed to _know_ how things were being taken care of, which apparently made him an excellent project manager? 

In reality, he just didn’t trust that other people wouldn’t forget to take care of it. That’s why trackers were good. With a tracker, it was clear who needed to do what and what stage that was in. So, for ten steady years, Shorty had worked as a logistical coordinator at Vizima’s army headquarters, and then gone home to his wife and children at the end of the day.

It was a good life. A bit boring, perhaps, but frankly, it was hard to be bored when you had as many children as Shorty had (at the time, he’d had eleven. Now, he and Sofia were at sixteen.)

Then, his Commanding Officer had retired and the new one had taken one look at his record and decided he needed a challenge to push him into taking on more responsibilities.

Why Shorty would _want_ new responsibilities was never clear, but his CO hadn’t much cared what he’d thought. Instead, Shorty had suddenly found himself the third recruit in a brand new special forces unit.

Life was less predictable now, and he got to spend less time with his family than he’d like – Sofia had just taken in two newborns and he hadn’t even gotten to _see_ them yet – but he’d also gained a whole new family. They had Commander Dad, Mom Dom Ves, Caring Mom PT, himself, the perpetually exhausted backup dad, the seen-some-shit Uncle Finch, and the kids, Fenn and Thirteen, with Silas as the baby.

And, as with all families, when the bedrock refused to take care of themselves, the entire family was affected. Because they depended on Commander Dad. He gave them directions, purpose, a reason to serve. He was the _reason_ they were a family.

And as much as he might insist that he was fine, it was obvious to all of them that Roche very much was _not_ fine. In fact, he was _so_ not-fine that they’d been mid mission debrief when he’d folded over on himself and started coughing up blood.

They were experienced soldiers, specialists who were sent into hot zones to clear them out. They had been trained and conditioned to maintain their calm while under fire.

At the sight of Roche’s blood, every single one of them lost their collective shits. Even PT, though he got it together faster than the rest of them and went into Medic Mode. 

Shorty, he was a little embarrassed to admit, had been one of the last ones to get it together. But really – Commander Dad coughing up blood? Scary. It was totally reasonable for them to freak out.

Of course, just as Shorty, Thirteen, and Fenn were putting themselves back to rights, Roche started wheezing, and when PT pressed his stethoscope against Roche’s back and took on a look of extreme concern? Shorty was _not_ reassured.

“I can hear an obstruction in your lungs,” PT said, looking grim. 

_“How!?”_ Roche asked, and then started coughing again. 

PT rubbed his back soothingly and Shorty darted a quick glance at the rest of the team. The same fear that was creeping up his body like the cold of winter was visible on their faces. 

And then a pink flower fell from Roche’s lips.

After that, Shorty wasn’t entirely sure what had happened. He was busy freaking the fuck out, because _what the fuck!?_

“The wasting disease,” the newbie whispered after PT had disappeared into the medical tent, and Shorty’s mind shut down all over again.

He was more than familiar with the wasting disease. He’d once had it himself and there were times he still awoke in the dark of the night, unable to breathe around the memory of raspberries filling his lungs. The fruit may have symbolized his love for Sofia, but even now, he couldn’t stand the taste of one.

For him, the cure had been easy. Confessing to Sofia had been terrifying, but it was also his most precious memory. The way her eyes had lit up when she’d said she felt the same…

“What kinda flower is it?” Thirteen asked.

“Shouldn’t you of all people know?” Finch grumbled and Thirteen glared at him. 

Shorty sighed, interceding before the impending fight could take off. “It’s a red campion. It’s a common wildflower.” 

Sofia adored campions, actually. Shorty’s favorite thing to do when he was home was to take his family outside the gates of Vizima and have a picnic in the meadow, wildflowers bright and vivid all around them.

“I’ve never heard of anyone coughing up flowers before,” Fenn said, brow wrinkled. “There was a guy who died when a whole cantaloupe filled his lungs, but not–”

“Fenn!” Ves snapped. 

“I have,” Thirteen said, biting his lip. “When I was growing up. There – there was this elf woman.” Finch spat on the ground and Silas wrinkled his nose, moving his boot further away from the glob of saliva slowly soaking into the dirt. Thirteen cleared his throat pointedly. “They called it something else, but it was just like the wasting disease, from everything I’ve heard.”

“What are you trying to say?” Ves demanded. “You _know_ Roche isn’t an elf.”

“Of course not,” Thirteen waved his hand, jaw tense. “But think about it. The wasting disease – not everyone gets it. It’s supposed to be – what do the stories say? Like, something about true love or some shit.”

“You think Commander Roche is in _love!?”_ Silas squeaked.

Ves growled, “you think he’s in love with an _elf!?”_

Thirteen held his hands up defensively. “I’m just telling you what I know. That elf lady _died_ ‘cause her lover left her.”

“But… I mean, I’ve never heard of it being flowers either,” Silas said, “but couldn’t the stories just be a little off?”

“They’re not,” Shorty rasped, feeling the scratch of the berries in his throat when he tried to swallow. He dug his fingernails into his palm to ground himself. “I – they’re not. It’s fruit, not flowers.”

The others were likely looking at him in surprise, but all Shorty could focus on was the rasp of his breath and the phantom weight in his chest making it harder and harder to breathe.

“Shorty!” Ves barked, and he automatically snapped to attention, suddenly aware of the way he had been bent over, clutching at his throat. He gasped sharply, mind reeling, and this time, the air filled his lungs easily, so he greedily sucked in more.

Silas touched his shoulder lightly. “Match my breathing,” the newbie said, inhaling and exhaling loudly. Shorty struggled to get his breathing into alignment, but after several minutes of that, he felt capable of thought again.

Silas squeezed his shoulder and offered him a waterskin.

“Thanks, kid,” he murmured, avoiding meeting anyone’s gaze. “Um. Yeah. The stories are right. Humans cough up fruit.”

“Fuck, man,” Finch said gruffly, knocking an elbow against him, “you love her that much, huh?”

His lips twitched up into a smile. “Yeah,” Shorty whispered, “I really do.”

“But–” Fenn sputtered, incapable as ever of keeping quiet for more than three seconds. “But the Boss hasn’t even been on a date in _ages._ Who the fuck could he be so deeply in love with?”

“Are you fucking stupid?” Finch said in disbelief. “If it’s a fucking treefucker, who do you _think_ it is!?”

Fenn just blinked at him and Shorty’s exasperated groan was echoed by four others.

“Fucking hell,” Finch sighed. “Why don’t you let us know when you figure it out? Next century, maybe?”

“Hey!”

Before Fenn could start a fight – and boy did he look like he wanted to, even as he also frowned in confusion – PT emerged from the medical tent.

“You do realize,” PT said slowly, “that we can _hear you,_ right?”

Even Ves looked uncomfortable as they processed that and Shorty had never seen Ves express an emotion that wasn’t at least 90% rage before, but he would bet this one was at _least_ 30% horror and embarrassment.

“How is he?” she demanded.

PT grimaced, “I don’t know.” He held up a hand to stave off Ves’ anger. “As you’ve so helpfully pointed out, this case is unusual. We need to return to Vizima so that I can do some research.”

“But – the King–” Silas began, and Shorty started coughing loudly to cut him off. Not that he thought they were being observed out here in the wilderness, but it never hurt to assume. Some things should just never be said out loud.

“For now,” PT said loudly, “the Boss would like us to break camp and prepare to return to Vizima.”

“They’re gonna ask why we’re back so early,” Thirteen pointed out.

“I’ll take care of it,” PT said and returned to the medical tent to pack up his supplies.

Roche did not emerge from the tent until it was literally the only thing left to pack up. He was holding a mug of tea – to soothe his throat, Shorty figured – and did not look directly at any of them, his shoulders tense. 

Once they’d collapsed the tent and tucked it away, Roche rasped, “let’s go,” and began marching back towards home.

The moon was high in the sky by the time Vizima’s gates rose in front of them, and the entire walk had been spent in awkward silence, interspersed with the occasional coughing fit and more of those same flowers.

By the time they were back in the Royal Quarter of the city, they were all tired and foul-tempered and Fenn had practically chewed through his lip in his efforts to keep quiet. 

“I’m going home,” Roche grunted. “Finish your reports before you conk out.”

Then he turned on his heel and strode away from them with quick steps, tension written into every line of his body.

Shorty let out a deep breath and hated the way that the awkwardness dissipated the moment the Commander was out of sight.

Ves look wound up tight enough to burst when she turned to them and barked, “you heard him. I expect those reports first thing tomorrow morning. Dismissed.”

Shorty had never been so relieved to sleep in his own bed, even if Sofia and the kids were understandably confused about his return. They hadn’t been expected back from assignment for another week.

Still, even with Sofia’s arms wrapped around him and his nose buried in a pillow that smelled of _home,_ he couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that Commander Vernon Roche had coughed up a red campion.

The next morning, the Blue Stripes discovered that Commander Roche had locked himself in his house and refused to let any of them inside, except for PT – and even that was probably only because PT could and would take out any door that stood between him and a patient.

“I mean,” Thirteen said casually, “I could easily break in.”

“No!” Silas said, firmly enough that Shorty looked at him in surprise. “Commander Roche wants his privacy. The least we can do is give it to him.”

“The _least_ we can do,” Thirteen interjected, “is show him we’re still, you know, his.”

“Are we?” Fenn asked softly, and Silas inhaled sharply.

There was a moment’s silence that felt condemning in its wait, but Shorty found he didn’t know what to say. Of course the Stripes were still Roche’s! He was the Boss!

He was also, apparently, in love with the leader of the very terrorists they were supposed to wipe out. 

Shorty wished Roche would just come out and explain it all to them. Maybe it was a misunderstanding, a mistake.

_And maybe,_ he thought bitterly, _the Boss’ll suddenly not be coughing up flowers anymore._

Surprisingly, it was Ves who stepped forward and broke the silence. “Of course we are,” she said, and the conviction in her voice bolstered Shorty. Of course they were. They were the Blue Stripes and they would always be Commander Dad’s men.

But really, _Iorveth!?_

“Now look alive,” Ves barked. “We have to go report to the King.”

Shorty made a strangled sound and he was pretty sure he wasn’t alone. The King? When Roche was in love with an elf!? That – they couldn’t – if the King found out, Commander Dad would be taken from them forever.

“You will stay _silent,”_ Ves hissed, glaring pointedly at Fenn, “or you will resign your commission right now.”

Shorty swallowed, eyes wide. He’d known Ves trusted Roche, of course he had. But this much? To be willing to _lie_ to the _King!?_ To be willing to _break apart their family_ if any of them disagreed?

A smile tugged on his lips and Shorty snapped into a salute, “yes, sir!”

Taking their cue from him, Thirteen and Silas immediately jumped to attention, echoing, “yes, sir!” Fenn and Finch were less eager. 

“You sure about this?” Finch asked. “I mean – _him!?”_

“Believe me,” Ves looked him dead in the eye. “I have brass knuckles waiting with his name on them after this is over. But right now, the only thing that matters is that your Commander might be _dying,_ and you cannot say _anything_ about it. Do you understand?”

Fenn pursed his lips, but nodded slowly. Finch, on the other hand, huffed an angry grunt and jerked his chin down sharply. 

“You better know what you’re doing,” Finch said.

“I always know what I’m doing,” Ves responded, turning on her heel. “Fall in!”

They took up formation behind her and marched towards the royal palace. Where they were going to very pointedly not talk about the condition their Boss was in. 

It should have felt treasonous, choosing Roche over the King. But as much as Shorty believed in Temeria, he believed in Roche more.

And he knew, without a doubt, that if they breathed a word of what was happening, King Foltest would have his Special Forces Commander executed.

**Author's Note:**

> Wanna chat about all these idiots? Join my [Witcher Rare Pair](https://discord.gg/y3rTGGaeSQ) discord server!


End file.
